


Hot and Bothered

by janne_d



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-23
Updated: 2005-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janne_d/pseuds/janne_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the heat that did it, Fraser decided, the heat that had stripped him of his usual control and left him prey to wicked impulse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot and Bothered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for torakowalski.

It was the heat that did it, Fraser decided, the heat that had stripped him of his usual control and left him prey to wicked impulse.

Temperatures in the city had climbed over the last week, leaving most of its residents drained and wilted like month-old lettuce as Chicago was hit by the worst heat-wave it had suffered in five years. Fraser had thought that the high temperatures would encourage mischief-makers to stay at home, but Ray had not shared his belief that they would have a quiet time of it at work while the heat-haze lasted.

"Heat makes people crazy," he'd said. "So the proper true blue criminals might be at home with their stolen air-cons on, but everyone else's going to be out causing chaos. Tempers going off like firecrackers, flipping out over the smallest thing, doing all the weird shit they normally realise is a really dumb idea, and they'll probably all be drunk cos people knock it back even more when it's hot. I tell you Fraser, we're going to out-busy any beaver you can think of until the clouds come back."

Events had proved him essentially correct, with each day bringing a fresh example of odd behaviour from the city's inhabitants, in addition to many more fights than were usual. Fraser was aware that most of the cases he found himself working on were not run-of-the-mill police work, but he had to admit that the stranger ones didn't usually occur in such a concentrated timeframe. Monday had been characterised by the incident in a grocery store where a woman had thrown $120 worth of fresh tomatoes at her husband, followed by a large chunk of mozzarella whilst shouting that if he loved pizza so much, he should have married one. Fraser had actually been quite impressed by her aim – she hadn't missed with a single tomato and despite the irregular shape of the cheese, had scored a direct hit on her husband's nose – and apparently so had the storekeeper, who ultimately declined to press charges in favour of setting up a date with the woman in question.

On Tuesday, they were called to a graveyard to negotiate with a group of drunken mariachis who were insisting that the site was a perfect rehearsal spot in the face of strong opposition from a funeral party, who naturally felt that more sombre music would fit the occasion better. However, by the time they had arrived, the mariachis had passed round their bottles of extremely strong tequila to all the mourners and the altercation had been shelved in favour of performing a conga dance around the graves and shouting "Ole" at random intervals. Ray had been willing to leave the situation as it was since the potential for violence had faded, but Fraser felt they should at least make an effort to persuade the former mourners to take the party, and mariachis, elsewhere. Other methods of persuasion having failed, they had found themselves dancing the revellers out of the gates and down the street to the hall hired for the funeral supper, where Ray began teaching people to salsa. Fraser hadn't quite been able to get the hang of it, but the music was infectious and Ray had looked very fetching in a sombrero. It was a pity that duty had eventually called them away.

Arresting several ninjas on Wednesday for threatening the employees of a local TV station had been interesting, though Ray had been less than impressed with their skills, pointing out, "No real ninja wears a headband with "ninja" written on it, nimrod," and threatening to "kick their fake-ass heads back to the toy store" if they didn't put the nunchakus, neko-te and shuriken down. He'd explained later that his knowledge of the weapons came from watching Bruce Lee films at an impressionable age, an ironic piece of personal history considering that the ninjas had been trying to force the TV station to show a Bruce Lee marathon to celebrate one of their number's birthday.

Fraser was still unable to think of Thursday's incident without blushing. He supposed the costumes (or what there was left of them) had been done quite well, but that was _not_ what Tolkien had meant by "The Crack of Doom"; he was reasonably certain that the author had also never intended for the characters to have _that_ kind of relationship; and in any case, a hilltop in the centre of a public park was definitely not the place to explore such liberal literary interpretations. Selling tickets to the spectators was simply morally reprehensible.

By Friday, he had been quite worn out and was looking forward to the weekend with unusual fervour. The still-rising temperatures had resulted in Diefenbaker refusing to stir from a miserable heap in front of the fan in Ray's apartment, and Fraser himself was becoming convinced that he had entered one of Dante's circles of hell, though this had less to do with the external influence of the Chicago summer and rather more to do with his partner.

In contrast to the sapped exhaustion exhibited by most of their colleagues, Ray's normal high energy had gradually melted into a languid sensuality that, coupled with his decrease in clothing over the week, had been straining Fraser's self-control to its limit. Even the oddity of their current caseload had not been able to distract him from the increasing amounts of Ray's skin that were on display. When Lieutenant Welsh had assigned them to stakeout duty, Fraser had decided that he must have done something truly terrible in a past life to deserve such punishment, and he couldn't even bring himself to care that he was mixing his religious metaphors.

In the end, it was a single drop of sweat that had caused his downfall. Ray had been unusually quiet for the duration of their shift, making nothing more than an occasional lazy observation or humming a snatch of tune. Normally Fraser would have welcomed the peace, but for once he would have appreciated the challenge of trying to follow his partner's train of thought as a distraction from his own discomfort. They had wound down the windows to try and combat the baking heat, but the air was completely still and after five minutes, Fraser had felt the sweat pooling along his back, even under the thinnest t-shirt he owned. Even his _knees_ were sweating under his jeans, but the blame for this and his flushed face didn't lie just with the temperature. Trapped in the close proximity of the GTO, Fraser had no escape from Ray's warm, enticing scent. It rose off Ray's skin and filled the air and Fraser just got hotter and hotter, breathing in Ray until he began to fear spontaneous human combustion as a serious possibility for his future.

As if that wasn't enough, after half an hour Ray had muttered something about ovens and completely unbuttoned the short-sleeved shirt he wore under his shoulder holster, revealing naked smooth skin all the way from his throat to his hips, a light sheen of sweat catching the sunlight so that he almost seemed to glow. Fraser had simply ceased paying any attention to their target from that point on, all his focus on Ray: the way his muscles moved with each slow breath, the line of perspiration along his upper lip that he would lick off every so often, the occasional teasing glimpse of nipple as he shifted in his seat… It could have been an hour or five minutes later that Fraser saw the fatal drop of sweat sliding leisurely downwards from Ray's collarbone. He traced its path avidly with his eyes, his mouth watering as it descended from the ribcage to the soft skin of Ray's belly.

Really, it was no wonder he had finally cracked. Even a Mountie couldn't be expected to resist _that_ much temptation.

Without a single thought to possible consequences, Fraser had leaned over, pressed his lips to warm, damp flesh and sucked that tantalising droplet from Ray's navel, tongue flickering out to capture the taste as fully as possible.

He had had little time to appreciate it though, as three things had occurred almost simultaneously. Ray's muscles had switched abruptly from somnolence to tension, Ray's voice gasped out "Fraser, what the _hell_?" and Fraser's brain woke from a dream of desire to a state of near panic, jerking his body bolt-upright.

Fraser shivered now, remembering. Ray had stared at him, wild-eyed with shock, and he had found himself completely unable to speak, the spiced salt flavour of Ray's skin still exploding over his tongue

Luckily, the gang they had been watching for had chosen that very moment to emerge from their lair carrying large, wriggling sacks, and he and Ray had very shortly been festooned with prisoners and prize Angora kittens, preventing any attempts at a private conversation. The controlled chaos of the precinct and the business of returning the pedigree kittens to their owner had provided further buffers but they were now on their way back to Ray's, and, though his partner had demanded that Fraser not say a word as they got into the car, Fraser had no illusions that this would remain the situation once they were in private. Perhaps Ray would believe that the heat had addled his brain? He was rather inclined to think that was the case himself; after all, he had successfully restrained himself from acting on his feelings for Ray for several months before the heat-wave had started, despite severe temptation.

He was still trying to think of an explanation for his actions that would not result in his losing Ray's friendship when they entered the apartment, but he was unable to think much beyond how good Ray had tasted and smelled, so as Ray closed the door and moved to drop his keys and holster on the kitchen counter, he simply decided to wait and see what happened. Ray turned to look at him and he braced himself.

"Okay, you want to explain to me just what you were thinking there, Fraser? And don't say that the heat melted your brain or something, because that is not going to fly."

Drat. Ray had already considered that excuse.

"You _licked_ me, Fraser. In the middle of a stakeout, right in the middle of us being on duty, you licked my stomach!"

"Well, yes, Ray. I did."

"Jesus, your timing sucks. Of all the times to finally make a move, all the different locations, you go and pick the GTO in the middle of a stakeout for kitten-thieves."

"What?" Surely he had misheard that. Ray was shaking his head at him, but he appeared more exasperated than angry. Perhaps this was not going to go as badly as Fraser had anticipated.

"We need to work on your moves, buddy. You don't go for it in a car when you've got the option of a nice comfy couch or bed to stretch out on, do things right, take your time. Like… right here and now. For example."

Oh my. Ray was grinning, that bright full grin that he only showed when he was feeling particularly good. He was also unbuttoning his shirt once more and Fraser found himself staring in open appreciation as all that lovely skin reappeared. He moved forward as Ray began to back into his bedroom, pulled along by that playful grin.

"For example, Ray? Is that a hint?" He reached out, running his fingers along Ray's throat, feeling Ray swallow as he dropped his shirt to the ground.

"Nah. Suggestion, maybe. Or… a clue. Y'know, one of those things that you normally lick..."

Ray's voice had gone breathy and he was leaning into Fraser's hands, enjoying being petted as much as one of the kittens from earlier, close enough for Fraser to feel Ray's warmth through the cotton of his t-shirt. It felt as hot as the sunshine outside and Fraser gave into impulse once more to lick softly at Ray's lips, teasing them open but not venturing inside until Ray gave a quiet gasp and pressed even closer. As soon as Fraser felt Ray's erection against his own, he lost the ability to hold back and the kiss turned wild, tongues sliding hotly as their hips ground together.

They were forced to break off as Ray yanked Fraser's t-shirt over his head, but as soon as it was gone they were skin to skin, Fraser licking and sucking the hollow of Ray's throat, delighting in the soft, needy noises this produced and learning the taste and scent of desire on Ray's skin as Ray's hands stroked and teased in return.

"Like that, Ray, is that how I normally lick things?"

"Oh, yeah. God, more Fraser, please…"

They stumbled towards the bed, shoving down jeans as they went, and collapsed on it in a tangle, Fraser on top, and when he shifted up and rolled his hips, their erections slid against each other and he cried out over Ray's moan. Sweat was breaking out all over Fraser's body once more, but now he gloried in the heat, moving again and again, faster and harder, as Ray grabbed at his hips and pushed back. The smell of their combined arousal permeated the air and Fraser wanted desperately to taste it, to take Ray into his mouth, hard and hot and wonderful. But he couldn't stop thrusting, couldn't move his mouth from Ray's and away from the wicked lips and tongue that were devouring him. Then Ray wrenched his head away, crying out as he arched up and came and Fraser managed one more thrust before the sensations burned through him in turn.

He collapsed, heart pounding and gasping for air, feeling Ray's heartbeats shake through the chest below him and Ray's hands moving gently along his spine. With his last bit of energy, he reached down and managed to untangle them enough so they could each kick off their shoes and pants, then Ray was hugging him sleepily and pulling up a sheet.

Fraser was still kissing whatever piece of skin was within his reach as he drifted off into a doze, thankful for the heat that had led him from hell into heaven.


End file.
